


Lonesome

by the_dread_e



Series: Lonesome [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dread_e/pseuds/the_dread_e
Summary: Newt wakes up in a room. He doesn't remember anything but his name. At least, he doesn't remember anything else at first.





	Lonesome

He doesn’t remember much. 

He's been awake...conscious...lucid...whatever...only for a few minutes. He feels like under normal circumstances, when you come back to yourself, you remember stuff. He can’t even remember what his name was. Is. What his name is. 

He’s also not sure he knows what normal circumstances are. The uneasiness in his stomach suggests that this situation might be very not normal. 

There is a heavy metal door that he’s sure is locked in several different ways. Beside it, what he assumes is a large two-way mirror dominates the rest of that wall. The other three are bare of any decoration. He’s sitting on the bed with his knees pulled tight to his chest. It appears to be the only piece of furniture in the room, aside from the toilet and what could generously be called a sink in the far corner. 

‘Okay.’ He says, testing his voice. His throat is sore, either from disuse or from screaming. Maybe both? Is that possible? He rubs his hands over his face and through his hair. He feels the sandpaper-y rub of stubble and the tenderness of bruising on his cheeks. There appear to be a few healed over cuts as well. His hair is a bit greasy. He can feel it stick up when he runs his fingers through it. 

So, he’s been in this room for a minute, and whoever put him in here clearly thinks that he’s dangerous. Not just to others, but to himself. That would explain the lack of anything except for the bare essentials. 

‘Okay.’ He says again. He takes a deep breath and nervously taps his fingers against his knees. ‘The facts. You can't remember anything. Well, you remember how to talk, obviously, but you know what I mean. You’re locked in a white box. You’ve got a mild to annoying headache, and your face is sore.’ 

He prods at his cheeks, wincing as he does. Was he in a fight? Was that a thing that he did? Did he fight? 

‘Christ, Newt, what the hell is going on?’ He mutters, dejected for a moment before he realizes what he just said. ‘Oh! Newt? Newt! That’s my name!’ 

It feels ridiculous, the swell of relief that balloons in his chest, but it’s a victory. This bleak place seems lacking in victories. The relief doesn’t last too long. It’s swallowed back up by the large empty feeling in the core of his chest. What little heat had been in the rooms is leached out. 

Unsteadily, he pushes off the bed. He relieves himself and finds that the sink doesn’t work before moving to the center of the room. He stares at the mirror before tottering over to it. 

Almost...something. Newt can feel eyes on him from the other side of the mirror. He reaches out and knocks. He comes very close to the glass and cups his hands around his eyes. He thinks he can make out a figure or two, but that could just be a trick of the light. 

‘So...um...if anyone’s out there, can I at least get a hint?’ He asks. A moment passes before he starts fiddling with the hem of his shirt. It’s the same color as the walls, but it’s comfortable and long-sleeved. 

‘Nothin’?’ 

He strains to hear if there’s a response, but he can’t be sure if the buzzing is the lights or whoever the hell is watching him through the window. 

‘Okay.’ He mutters, defeated. His chest feels hollow as he sits back on the bed. He tries not to stare at the window. 

Newt wraps his arms around his legs again and gently bangs his forehead against his knees. There must be something else, right? 

Hours could have passed. He has no concept of time in this place. Just as frustrated tears began to prickle in the corners of his eyes, there’s something. He gasps and reaches out in his mind. He can’t let it slip away. 

It’s barely a memory. More of a sensation. The touch of soft, synthetic fur. A blanket? No, nothing like that. Lining? Yeah, yeah! That’s it. Newt straightens and clenches his fingers in the bedding. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself back into whatever this is. 

He’s walking into a space he hadn’t been before. It’s different from the one they shared nearly a decade ago. (Is there someone else here? I...I think so? He’s talking, isn’t he? Was he pleased to see me? Why would anyone be?) Newt’s head is throbbing, both in the memory and in the bleak room he’s locked in. He stretches further and it hurts so much, but he has to know. 

He walks into the lab space, and something catches his eye. It’s a parka, hung near the door. Newt’s hand involuntarily reaches out, and he rubs the fluffy lining on the hood. He remembers the way the parka smells. Hermann had used it as a makeshift blanket for him when he’d fall asleep at his desk in the lab. 

Hermann 

Pain spikes through Newt’s head. His hands fly up to his temples as a strangled sob catches in his throat. They’re still there, in some way. He doesn’t feel them pressing him to do their sinister work anymore, but there’s a faint trace that can still cause him pain. 

Newt lets the memory fade, but the name stays prominent in the sparse remains of his memory. Hermann. Hermann was important. More so than anyone else. How could he have forgotten? 

Them. They knew how important Hermann was. Wasn’t that why they pulled them apart? Newt was theirs for so long, Hermann was the only one who stood a chance at pulling him back. 

He doesn’t realize it, but Newt’s rocking back and forth on the bed, repeating the most important name over and over. He doesn’t care if it fills his entire mind and pushes everything else out. Nothing else matters. 

Newt opens his eyes, lowers his hands, and looks to the glass. 

‘Does the name Hermann mean anything to you out there? He...he had a coat...a parka really. It had soft, white trim along the hood?’ Newt desperately asks as he pushes himself off the bed. He stumbles as he approaches, but this is important. ‘I know someone’s out there. Please, I...I don’t...he’s important...the most important. That’s all I can...can remember.’ 

The glass doesn’t answer him back, but the buzzing that Newt heard earlier grows louder. An argument, maybe? Newt stays where he is, trying to decipher anything from beyond the mirror. 

And then he sees the slight vibration. It’s wishful thinking. Something tugs at the back of his brain, and he steps forward. He presses his fingertips to the mirror, and in the depths of his very very wrong mind, he knows--KNOWS beyond any doubt--that someone is pressing back on the other side. 

A sad smile passes over Newt’s face as a few heavy tears roll down his cheeks. It doesn’t fill the lonesome hole in his chest, but it's something. 

 

Newt can’t be sure how much time has passed. Meals have appeared in front of the door, and that’s his best approximation. His head still throbs from grasping at memories. 

This meal is different. 

When Newt wakes, he’s greeted with something warmer than his itchy blanket. He inhales and tears come to his eyes at the familiar scent. Flashes of snippets from what could have been his life skip across his mind. He moans at the pain, but with a smile on his face. He opens his eyes and looks down at his body. The parka is draped over him. 

Newt sits up in bed as the tears spill over. He reaches up to brush them away, but a terrifyingly familiar hand with long, delicate fingers wraps around his wrist to stop him. 

Newt stares at the hand for long seconds before he feels another cup his cheek and ease his head up. The thumb on the hand brushes his tears away as Newt feels his chest overflow with what he remembers as love. 

‘Hermann.’ He says with an expression of contrition and overwhelming joy. 

Hermann smiles and leans forward so their foreheads are touching. ‘Newt.’ 

Newt doesn’t need to remember anything else. At least, not right now. He knows it's going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> The concept of Newt with amnesia after Uprising makes me cry every time I think about it, so I thought I'd work out those feelings with this little thing. Thanks for reading!


End file.
